(10) - Lost and Found

Griffonclaw stirred.

He was a blacksmith of some skill. He had spent hours, sometimes days immersed in the craft, enduring forge temperatures while using his mighty thews to strike steel, mithril, and other metals upon the anvil. The noise, the heat, the occasional burns and cuts as materials moved or slipped unexpectedly. The repeated clang of hammer on anvil of not only his own work, but of the other smiths working around him.

Thats what his head felt like - as if someone was using his head to forge some heavy steel blade, folding the metal over and hammering it out once, twice, a hundred times.

And moreover, something was prodding the sole of his boot.

Griffonclaw cracked one bleery eye... and could see almost nothing. He was someplace dark, and remarkably uncomfortable. But he could hear something faintly, slowly growing in volume as the hammering in his head moved to the background.

"Griff, what are you doing? Come out of there!" said the low, melodious voice. Slowly, Griffonclaw's brain identified the owner - it belonged to Ianthe, a hunter whose aim with a gun could successfully put out an orc's eye at 500 yards.

"Come out of there!" Ianthe said again, her voice insistent.

Griffonclaw was of three minds - the first one was to go back to sleep. He was bone-tired after a week of closely examining the relative merits of every exotic drink he could lay his hands on in Stormwind, usually in the company of members of various races' opposite sex. Released from his vows of chastity and temperance, he had immediately drowned his sorrows in twin indulgences...

...or over-indulgences, as the case had been.

After his disgraceful arrest in Goldshire for drunk and disorderly behavior, he had resigned from the Hammer of Magni, and carefully folded his guild tunic away. They were fine, upstanding heroes of the Alliance, and he had felt that he no longer deserved a place among them; a defrocked Paladin was a strange thing, neither fish nor fowl, and his recent
behavior had been disgraceful. He would not tarnish their reputation by his actions. Of course, refraining from the disgraceful actions hadn't occured to him. He was taking to those vices like a Dwarf to ale.

His second one was to meekly comply with Ianthe, and go with her to face whatever consequences were due. He had a quick vision of himself standing before the Hammers, recounting his myriad disgraceful actions, and being forgiven. For Griffonclaw, that would be both humiliating and futile - at the end of the day, he'd still be nothing but a former Paladin, a Warrior without a warrior's skills and abilities. A fish out of water, and still an
embarrassment and liability to the Hammer.

And so, he gave into his third one - run away and find another bottle somewhere. Griffonclaw staggered to his feet, meekly pretending to obey Ianthe, but as soon as he was clear of the massive wine barrels (he had fallen asleep behind the rather sizable supply barrels of wine in the

basement of the Blue Recluse, in the Mages' Quarter, he now recalled), he sprinted for the stairs. Clad in civilian clothes, he was unencumbered by armor, and flew out the door.

Unfortunately for him, he was trying to escape from a Night Elf hunter. Ianthe, clad in her mail, weapons, and packs was still right on his tail. She and Morla dogged him as he dodged behind buildings, down alleyways, through shops (leaving some rather astonished-looking shopkeepers in his wake), until Griffonclaw headed for the canals. She rounded the corner, but Griffonclaw had vanished!

Griffonclaw watched from his vantage point as Ianthe searched for his trail.

When he had turned the corner he had dove head-first into the canal, and hidden under a fishing boat. He had taken a small vial from his pouch, containing a Potion of Water Breathing, and he had felt the temporary magical gills form on the sides of his neck. Without breath, there were no tell-tale bubbles, and he could hide under docks and boats for at least fifteen minutes before the potion wore off. Swiftly kicking out, he swam underwater to the connecting tunnels which lead from the canals of the city to the Valley of Heroes, the ponds between the inner and outer gates. He would slip through the outer gate while Ianthe was still searching the city, and head down to Goldshire for a quick drink... or a half-dozen quick drinks.

He surfaced carefully, his eyes spanning the bridge area which connected the inner and outer gates - he seemed to be in the clear. He climbed out of the water, his sodden form dripping a trail all the way up the banks. He passed through the outer gate of Stormwind unchallenged, and started on the road to Goldshire when he felt something tug on his pants.

He looked down. There was a snapping turtle with a firm grip on his Black Mageweave trousers, holding him in place.

Morla. Griffonclaw sighed - he hadn't escaped Ianthe at all.

He turned, and saw Ianthe leaning back against the outer city wall, her blunderbuss cradled almost neglectfully in her hands. "It really was an excellent move, Griff... but the wave pattern told me where'd you'd gone, and it didn't take a genius to know where you were headed once you entered the tunnels."

"But..." spluttered Griffonclaw "I didn't see you!"

"Nobody sees me unless I wish to be seen" replied Ianthe with a smirk. "Now, come with
me."

"Where?"

"Ironforge" she informed him. "If you'd been in touch and not in wine barrel, you'd have heard the news... you've been declared an "Official Dwarf" by His Majesty."

"I'm a Dwarf?" questioned Griffonclaw. His head was still not clear enough to make the connection between being declared an Official Dwarf and anything relevant. Bengus Deepforge had long been his mentor in smithing, and he had spent many pleasant hours in taverns with him.

"Yes, and Tbelle made application on your behalf to the Ironforge Order of Light, who have agreed to accept you as one of their own - you being a dwarf, and all..." Ianthe grinned. "All we have to do is get you to Ironforge - the Hammers have been all over Stormwind, looking for you. Sir Beldruk is ready to administer your oath!"

"I'm to be a dwarven Paladin?" Griffonclaw asked, unbelievingly.

"Yes... if you want to be... you do want to be, don't you, Griff? And come back to the Hammers?"

That settled it. Ianthe helped Griffonclaw - joined by Hammers on the way - stumble to the griffon roost, where he was carefully mounted with a wink by his friend Longdrink - "Bloodflower won't let you fall, Griffon... just let her drive. She knows the way..." - and flown to Ironforge.

Over the wilds of Draco'dar Griffonclaw was briefly - but violently - ill, discharging the rest of his stomach contents over the side in one vile, disgusting missle. He felt much better. He hoped it landed somewhere appropriate. The griffon roost in Ironforge was crowded by Hammers and other dwarven friends of his - the entire Deepforge family had turned out in style - and conducted to the Mystic Ward, where he was brought to Beldruk Doombrow.

"Och, lad... I understand ye be wanting to join the Order of Light?" asked Beldruk, his low voice resonating in the chamber.

"I do, Sir" answered Griffonclaw respectfully.

"Well, then - do ye swear to defend Ironforge, and all Alliance peoples from the Horde? To protect the innocent? To punish the guilty?"

"I do"

"Well, then don't just stand there with your mouth gaping... take your mates off and stand them to a drink or two... Paladin Griffonclaw!" A cheer went up, although whether because Griffonclaw had been made a Paladin of the Order of Light or because he'd been instructed to buy his friends a round or two was unknown.